Alone
by PhoenixPadfoot89
Summary: Harry has to deal with people's reactions to Voldemort's defeat. PG for angst.


Alone

He had been their savior. Their hope. Their light in the darkness.

What had he gotten for it?

Nothing.

Just a small cell in prison.

A prison with no walls.

His mind was the prison.

He was trapped within his own mind. He was slowly going insane.

Sure, he had saved the world. He had killed Voldemort. People rejoiced, and then went back to their lives.

They didn't care about him.

He was worth nothing to them. Nothing at all, once the Dark Lord was dead.

Ron hated him for his fame. He had always been terribly jealous. Now, he shunned him for his glory.

He had never really wanted fame. It always followed him around, though. It was all people thought of. The only thing, other than money, that everyone really wanted. It was like a cockroach to him: an annoying pest that never dies.

It was driving him insane.

He didn't have any fame anymore, though.

And that was what made him going mad.

With out his fame, no one liked him.

No one talked to him.

No one loved him.

No one cared.

No one really ever cared about him. They pretended to, so that he would kill the thing that was bad, and then go away. Go away and leave them alone. Let them get back to their normal lives.

No one cared.

Except one.

The one that always was there for him when he needed it. The one that gave him comfort, strength. The one that gave him love.

Sirius.

Sirius was still guilty in the public's eye, although he had been proven innocent.

Sirius was the only one Harry liked in the world.

The bloody Wizarding world.

The world that he went into when he was eleven learned that he was famous, powerful, and wanted dead by many.

The world that expected so much from him.

The world that shunned him when he was done fulfilling their expectations.

He hated everyone, excluding Sirius.

He hated Ron for being jealous.

He hated Hermione for siding with Ron.

He hated Snape for… being Snape.

He hated Dumbledore for expecting so much of him, then rejecting him when he was finished.

He hated Voldemort most of all. Voldemort was the reason he was so miserable and alone. Voldemort was the reason he was so famous. Voldemort was the reason the whole world was against him, him and a couple Death Eaters. Some Death Eaters had survived, and were looking for him. He didn't care. All because of one name.

Voldemort.

Even just the name sounded evil. It also sounded a little Russian, if you think about it.

No, that was just his insanity kicking in.

_Where's Sirius?_ He needed him when he was slipping into the world of madness.

Sirius was his only hope. Sirius was his savior. 

After all, even the hero's got to have a hero, right?

No. No one cares about the hero. No one says to the hero, " How are you feeling?" "How was your day?" or simply, "It's ok. I'm here for you."

_Was that Sirius? And a person in a hooded cloak?_ He's holding a stick at Sirius. 

Haha. He's holding a stick to a dog.

Go fetch.

No, a wand.

_What's he doing?_ Sirius looks scared.

_Sirius, help me! I'm going mad! I'm slipping! Only you can save me._ I cry.

Sirius can't save me. The figure in the cloak is holding his wand at him.

_Why cloaks? Why not muggle clothes? Who thought that wizards wore cloaks, anyway?_

No. Must stay focused. Think Sirius.

The figure and Sirius are talking.  Sirius grabbes his wand, but the figure disarms him.

Disarms. 

_Does that mean he removes his arms? Who thought of stupid words like cloaks and Voldemort and disarms anyway?_

Stay focused.

Sirius pleads, but the figure sneers. I know that sneer.

The sneer that followed me all the way through school, ever since that time in Madam Melon's Robes shop. 

_Or was it Madam Moron?_ I really can't remember.

The Malfoy sneer.

Draco Malfoy.

He gives Sirius's wand back to him. They are going to duel.

Just like in my second year. That was fun. I wonder what ever happened to Lockhart.

Sirius, I want to say, try the serpansortia spell.

Sirius can't hear me. Only I can hear me. 

And the Voices.

Malfoy shoots a tickler at Sirius.

Tickler.

Really, some people never grow up. 

Then, he shot a jet of green light.

Ok, so maybe he has grown up.

Dead.

Sirius.

Sirius is dead. I am alone.

Just before the light hit him, he looked at me. 

I could read his thoughts. It's a special gift.

I like gifts, especially Christmas gifts.

He said he loved me.

He loved me.

That one sentence brought my sanity back.

 I was me again.

I could feel. 

I could think. 

I could kick ass.

With out a word, I killed Malfoy.

He killed my only friend.

 Now, I kill him.

So what if I'm alone?

Alone in Azkaban.

Do I really care?

No.

I'm just Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Boy-Who-Killed-Lord-Voldemort, or simply, The Murderer.

But most of all, I'm insane and alone. And sad. And insane. And alone.

_Alone._

~~~~~~~~~*********~~~~~~~~~~

Do you like it? Hey, Katie told me to write Anguish, so here's my first attempt. I've never written a short fic like this before. Please review. I want some critiques! Just not flames, please.


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